Sins and Serenades: Preacher's Kid

Chapter 1

Soul

I am excited to get back to camp this year, to get away for the summer and see him again, Gabriel, or as I call him, Gabe. We met our first year at camp when I was eight, and he was nine, and every year we have met up at camp, and when camp was over, I wished the year away so I could be with him again. We got stuck together for a Bible trivia, and we clicked. From that point on, we were always together. We have a lot in common, especially with us both being pastor’s kids and loving to sing. We would both complain about all the obligations we had to deal with and all the things “regular” kids got to do that we didn’t, like going to birthday parties or just about any school extracurricular activities. But we couldn’t because we had to go to church for church, prepare for church, or have a fundraiser for the church. Gabe had a harder time than I did because his father is one of the few white men in a predominately black church denomination. He was often picked on in school because he had black friends and a little more swag than the average white boy, that is, until he turned about fifteen years old. The foot he grew and the extra weight he gained made everyone who tried to bully or talk trash to him shut right on up.

On the other hand, I was always bony, built like a bed slat, as my sisters called me. They were all built like the black versions of Jessica Rabbit, and I was built like Olive Oil. Not only were my sisters built like walking wet dreams, but even my friends were built better than me. While other people were praying for jobs, cars, cures for diseases, and ending world hunger, I was praying for boobs, hips, and ass. Selfish? Yes, it was, but did I still pray for it? Yes, I did, and nothing happened. One thing I did have was hair, lips, and skin, all of them perfection. But Gabe never treated me like I was ugly, but also didn’t treat me like I was attractive either until he did. At first, we were both young, and it didn’t matter, hell it didn’t even occur to us, but year after year, going back, things began to change. Things that weren’t important before started becoming important, and things that seemed important before no longer mattered. I am not sure at what age it went from friend to more, all I can be sure of is it did, if I had any doubts, the letters that began coming were proof. At least once a week, I got a letter, I would hide it away like a miser so my mom and sisters couldn’t get it and read it, I learned that lesson the hard way. I would wait until it was the middle of the night when I was sure everyone was asleep, and I would carefully open the envelope not wanting to rip it, he would write little notes all over the inside, and I wanted to read them all storing them away like a squirrel hides its nuts in preparation for winter. I would rush to the mailbox every day in hopes that the mailbox held one of his letters safely until I would come to retrieve it.

“Soul!” My mom yells for me from downstairs, we are running late getting on the road to camp. This is my first year being there without any of my sisters. They have aged out, Serenity went an extra year as a counselor, but she refused to go this year, and she made sure to get a job so that our parents would not try to force her to go. At nineteen, she was technically an adult, but to our parents, she was still “their child” and, therefore, subject to their rules. She got hired as a Community Development Assistant and literally stumbled upon a good job where she made good money and had great benefits. Her job is paying for her to go to college even though she was adamant college was not for her, but she’ll be starting part-time in the spring. All she needs is an associate degree and she can be promoted to Community Development Manager after working three years, just about the time she will need to get her degree. Our parents put her on the 50/30/20 savings plan which meant fifty percent goes to needs, thirty percent goes to wants, and twenty percent goes towards savings. She is required to pay rent, and one bill, the smallest bill in the house, and pay her own car insurance other than that, her money is hers. Since our other two sisters have gone to college, gotten married, and are on their own, she and I both have our own rooms. Our parents had the rooms remodeled after Sevyn got married and turned the small seven-bedroom house into a four-bedroom house with an office by knocking down the walls between the rooms and making two bedrooms into one. My room was so large I had a full-size sofa, desk with chair, and TV along with my full-size bedroom set with room left over, and my room was still the smallest.

“Coming, Mom!” I yell back as I zip my backpack up after making sure it has my notebooks in it, sling it across my shoulder, grab my suitcase, and rush out of my room taking the stairs down, skipping every other step.

“My goodness, you would think you were moving to camp the time it took for you to pack,” my mother says as my dad comes in from the back door, grabbing my suitcase to put in the trunk.

“Sorry, Momma. I just want to make sure I have everything I need. I’ll be too far away from home if I forget something,” I explain, looking at my mother, who looks like she is ready to go out to a fancy dinner with her beautiful gold, teal, and brown dress, high heels, jewelry, and a full face of make-up and all she is doing is driving me to camp. I asked her one time why she is always dressed up, and she replied, I can remember when I was homeless, sleeping on the street in church doorways and wearing the same clothes day in and day out. I would pray to God to get me off of the streets and out of this situation, those nights, while I was huddled in the corner, cold and trying to make myself as small as possible so I could go unnoticed I promised myself I would always dress my best. I would not take anything for granted anymore. After that explanation, I never questioned her again.

“That is true, but all you have to do is call me, and I will have your father drive me up there to bring you anything that you need,” she says, pulling me into her arms, her perfume making its way in my nose and filling me with comfort only she can give. She is beautiful, and my sisters are built just like her, I can see why my father pursued her for a year before she would consent to a date. One year after that, they were married, and nine months later, Shiloh was born.

“I wouldn’t ask you and Daddy to do that Ma, that’s why I took a bit longer to make sure I have everything I needed.”

“Are you ladies ready to go? Or are you going to stand there hugging all day?” my dad says from the doorway. As much as my mom gave my dad a hard time, he is a handsome man, tall, and with a nice light brown complexion, a gift from his Native American and White father and Black mother, and a naturally muscled build that only working on a farm can provide.

“We’re ready, Meechie,” my mom says, calling my dad the nickname only she can use, Meechie, short for Demetrius.

“Yeah, we’re ready, Daddy,” I say, trying not to rush out of the house.

“Well, let”s go then,” he says, and we make our way to the car. Dad is driving, Mom is in the passenger seat, and I have the entire back seat to myself. I have a pillow and blanket, so I make the backseat up the way I like it, grab my MP3 player, put the headphones on, lay down, and fall asleep before we can get to the corner. It is a two to three-hour drive, depending on traffic, and I plan to sleep the whole way there if I can help it. When I wake up again, I will be at Little Shepard’s Camp and with him.